


I'll Have a Blue Christmas

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, M/M, Mystrade Advent Calendar 2017, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 17:50:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13105410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: Greg falls off of everyone's radar on Christmas Eve and it falls on Mycroft to solve this particular mystery...





	I'll Have a Blue Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Mystrade Advent Calendar 2017, which has been a riotously-successful project organized by [mottlemoth](http://mottlemoth.tumblr.com/) and [egmon73,](http://egmon73.tumblr.com/) who deserve a round of applause for all of their hard work!

      “Good heavens, Sherlock… why are you haunting me, much like an especially sour version of Marley’s ghost?”

Mycroft had been looking forward, for once, to a quiet, restful Christmas Eve and the arrival of his agitated baby brother did not bode well for that to be the direction of his night.

      “I cannot find Lestrade.”

      “Have you looked under your rug?”

      “You are inane.”

      “And you are perplexing.  First, why would you be seeking the Detective Inspector on this night in particular and why are you here, in my home, to announce the fact?”

      “My experiment produced the expected results that prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he is a cretin and so are his team.”

      “Something you proclaim, ad nauseum, on any given day.  I doubt highly that the impact will be lessened by waiting until after the holiday to make your pronouncement.”

      “My experiment concluded today and so, today, should be the day I share my results.  Normally, Lestrade is in his office at this time, however, tonight he has deliberately taken steps to avoid me.”

      “Deliberately?”

      “Well… I shall choose to assume so until such time as I am proven wrong.  Which is unlikely.”

      “Sherlock… I find this all terribly unconvincing.  And irrelevant.  And tedious.  Perhaps loony, also, though I shall withhold full judgement on that particular descriptor until you are examined by experts certified to make a final declaration on the fact.”

      “You are addled.”

      “Of course…”

Drawing out his mobile, Mycroft quickly placed a call to John, the more rational of the dynamic duo, a point proven by Sherlock’s frantic attempts to retrieve Mycroft’s phone once he realized to whom the call was being placed.  Fortunately, elder brothers accumulate through time a veritable arsenal of techniques for subduing younger siblings and the implementation of Method #8 was particularly effective when Sherlock was already in motion and somewhat unnoticing of the behavior of his older sibling’s foot.  Fortunately, for Sherlock’s nose, Mycroft’s rugs were exceedingly plush.

      “I am not paying for whatever he’s broken, Mycroft, and that’s final.”

      “I do appreciate a tactical, preemptive strike, Doctor Watson, however you may safely release the death grip you have upon your wallet and simply answer the question as to why my brother is frothing in agitation over the whereabouts of Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

      “He’s genuinely worried, I think.  Greg said he’d stop in today for a Christmas hello, but phoned earlier to say he’d see us another day because he had to work.  When Sherlock stopped in to find him…”

      “He was not there.”

      “More it was the case that nobody had seen him.  He donned his coat a few hours ago, said Happy Christmas and left.  Admittedly, it was his scheduled time to leave, but he’s not usually one to go by the hands on the clock and there was still some paperwork to tidy. _And_ it didn’t match with what he’d told me on the phone.  I think it spooked Sherlock for some reason and he went a bit round the twist.  Christmas does that to him, you know.  Remember the Reindeer Rampage?”

      “I do my best _not_ to remember it, thank you.  Very well, I shall tend to matters on my end and return your wayward partner to you post haste.”

      “Don’t hurry on my account!”

      “Pish tosh, John.  I know very well that you have a small gathering soon to begin and both hosts must be present for a proper and polite showing.”

      “Oh, fine.  Throw propriety at me.”

      “I shall.  Besides… Sherlock does enjoy his little Christmas party.”

      “Oddly, he does.  He actually glows a bit, though that might be Mrs. Hudson’s punch.”

      “Yes, I have heard tales concerning its potency and do have plans to have it tested for potential listing as a weapon of mass destruction.  Nevertheless, I shall send him in the car as soon as he dusts himself off.”

      “Should I ask?”

      “Probably not.”

      “Then goodbye, Mycroft!  Happy Christmas!”

      “Happy Christmas to you, as well, John.”

Mycroft smiled at Sherlock, who was rubbing his nose and scowling with a thunder that would have terrified a lesser man.  However, since it was the same scowl Sherlock had sported since he was a toddler, Mycroft’s mettle was well and truly hardened against its stormy threats.

      “You are a villain, Mycroft.”

      “True, but you might have avoided a fall to the floor if you had simply asked if I knew the location of the Detective Inspector because you were concerned, given his behavior today.”

      “I am not concerned.”

      “Your ‘not concerned’ is as credible as your pronouncement when you were four years old and claimed you had not eaten a beetle when one of its legs was protruding from your mouth.”

      “It was an experiment.”

      “Goodbye, Sherlock.  Go home and enjoy Christmas Eve with John and your friends.  If it salves your worry, I shall make inquiries as to the Detective Inspector’s location and, if there is reason for your concern, I _will_ let you know.”

Sherlock’s scowl wavered, then quickly morphed into a ‘as if I care’ portrait of apathy, mandating a change of subject to prove his loss of interest in the topic, though Mycroft was very well aware that was far from the case.

      “I require wine.”

      “Is that code?”

      “To the empty-headed, apparently it is.  I… we require wine.  John needs a bottle.”

      “Meaning you would like for me to gift you a bottle of wine to present to Doctor Watson as part of your Christmas merriment and to forestall his lecturing you about causing chaos on Christmas.”

      “A _good_ bottle.”

Mycroft crooked a finger and led Sherlock to the current selection he had waiting for this week’s sampling and felt no surprise when Sherlock tucked two bottles into his coat pockets and left without a thank you.  Now, though, he had a mystery to pursue.  The Case of the Missing Policeman… truly something Poirot would take up if Japp had vanished from the scene and he could do no less, especially given the Christmas spirit was upon his dear brother and Sherlock was evincing concern for another human being.

And, of course, there were other reasons, but Sherlock certainly had no need to know that particular set of motivations, powerful though they might be…

__________

Though, perhaps Sherlock’s worries were not as unfounded as he had believed.  There was no security footage, as yet, of the Detective Inspector’s movements after leaving new Scotland Yard and several attempts to reach him on his mobile met with naught but the standard voice mail greeting encouraging him to leave a message.  Whereas, if the man was embroiled in a matter of work, it _would_ be expected he not answer his mobile for a call not coming from NSY or a member of his team, but Sherlock implied, and he had verified, that ‘a matter of work’ was not the case.  And the Detective Inspector had not visited his flat or any of the various locales where he occasionally spent his free time.  Nor had he made an appearance at his local market, bank, off-license or any other establishment where he conducted personal business.  For all intents and purposes, the man had vanished from the face of the Earth and that was _not_ something to take lightly.

Making a quick call, Mycroft waited a moment while certain individuals remotely activated Lestrade’s phone to use the GPS to pinpoint his location, which Mycroft was relieved to see was still in the city.  That the location remained stable, however, could be gladdening or worrying, depending on whether his quarry was being forcibly detained or if he was simply enjoying his current location and not inspired to move from it.  Or… he could have tossed away his mobile and be completely off the proverbial grid, something which was as troubling as the first option.

Mycroft quickly checked that his car had returned from delivering Sherlock back to the clutches of Christmas revelry and set out to make his own assessment of the situation.  Nobody would be particularly content with the outcome if a dozen armed men descended on the Detective Inspector’s location only to interrupt him having tea with his mother.  That his mother was deceased was entirely beside the point, though if this was the onset of the oft-predicted Zombie Apocalypse, it would a good thing a man of his level of genius was there to properly document and manage the event.

__________

As the car pulled alongside the curb, Mycroft took note of the venue he would be surveilling and dismissed the ‘tea with his mother’ possibility.  The Detective Inspector would likely not bring his mother to a park, especially on a rather frigid night, to take tea.  True, a zombie might not suffer the effects of the cold, however, the Detective Inspector surely would and, further, no good son would allow his mother, zombie or not, to drink weather-chilled tea.  It simply wasn’t done.

And that was borne out by the fact that, as he crept forward… not that creeping was necessary, but on the off-chance that flesh eaters _were_ hiding in wait, a modicum of caution was necessary… the Detective Inspector was alone, sitting on a bench, looking out over a small pond that reflected the moonlight and the silhouettes of the leafless trees that stood proud against the winter’s chill.  And… oh good, he had a scarf to keep him warm.

      “My dear?  Is… is everything alright?”

Greg turned his head slightly and Mycroft dashed forward, seeing the quick motion that wiped a glittering jewel of a tear from his lover’s cheek.

      “Gregory?  What… what is wrong?”

      “Nothing.”

      “But…”

Sitting down next to the person who owned his heart, Mycroft ran a hand along Greg’s cheek and took note of every millimeter of his face, seeking any sign of what was amiss.

      “Really, love, I’m alright.”

      “Sherlock said you sent your regrets for their Christmas gathering and then left your office with no word to anyone.  Your phone is not active…

      “That’s how you found me, though, isn’t it? Gave it a little nudge to tell tales on me.”

      “I… I was frightfully worried, Gregory.  You know I do not spy on your comings and goings, but… tonight of all nights I could not bear the thought that you might be in distress and I was not acting to help you.”

Greg laughed softly and marveled that one of the world’s most powerful men could be a mass of nerves because his lover went dark on the communication front for a couple of hours.

      “Yeah, I probably should have phoned, but… I sort of needed some time to myself.”

      “Whatever for?  Gregory, did something happen today?”

Mycroft ran a gloved thumb across Greg’s cheek and hated that he caught another trail of moisture that had only now started to dry on his lover’s skin.

      “In a roundabout way, I suppose it did.”

      “Was it a case?  I know how they upset you, at times.”

      “No, not a case.  And I’m not upset… it was just…”

      ‘Yes?  Please, Gregory, I do so want to see your troubles eased, if I can…”

      “That’s the thing.  It’s not troubles I thought I _needed_ to think about.  It’s Christmas Eve… and a beautiful one, at that.  That crispness in the air, the Yard festooned with the most awful and ridiculous decorations… biscuits and sweets on every desk…”

      “And… that bothered you?”

      “Yes, but also no.  Most years, it’s a definite yes.  Normally, this time of year… is hard.  I take extra hours so someone with a family can go home and spend the holiday with the people they love.  I don’t decorate my flat, why bother.  I’ll have my normal take-away delivered to my desk and keep my nose in my work; probably not see my own bed until Christmas afternoon.  Maybe make a nod to the season with a drink or two and a bit of telly.  Finish whatever I have left in the refrigerator, not bothering to warm it since it’s just to keep the alcohol company and prevent a rumbly stomach from keeping me awake when I finally greet the pillow.  Sherlock’s and John’s little party is about the only bit of holiday celebration I actually see, and I can’t make that some years…”

      “I… I do not understand.”

      “I didn’t either!  I was sitting at my desk, shuffling through the typical mountain of paper that glares at me every time my arse hits my chair and… it was different.  Something was off.  Something had me… unsettled, but in a _different_ way.  Just in a… there’s something else I’m not seeing sort of way.  I simply needed to get my head around it and I knew I wouldn’t be good company until that happened, so… I took myself away for awhile to work it all out.  Sometimes that’s what you have to do, you know?  Have only one voice in your head and that’s the one from inside you that tells you the truth whether you like it or not, gives you confidence you’re doing right or a good scolding if you’re not…”

      “Gregory… this is not assuaging my worry…”

      “No, I suspect not.”

Greg’s long look out over the small pond and final wipe of his eyes also did nothing to assuage Mycroft’s worry.  In fact, it sent it skyrocketing.

      “I remember, love, the first time I got you to smile.  I’d tried, tried my best for so long and finally it happened.  Just the tiniest thing, some might not even have noticed, but I did.  I saw that teeny smile on your lips from one of my stupid jokes, and I don’t think I could have been happier if I won the lottery.  The first time I heard your laughter, it was like I was the skies opened and sunshine poured down all over me.  Every step of the way, every tiny success, it was like the universe handed me a beautiful gift and each one brought me closer to you.  We’ve been together a year now…”

      “Yes, but I fail to see…”

      “Not that anyone knows…”

The cold wind that blew through Mycroft’s soul had nothing to do with the bitter weather.

      “Tr… true, but we agreed that it would be best, for the time being, to keep our relationship private, due to the various complications involved should it be revealed.  You worried terribly about the perception of favoritism and, of course, the Sherlock situation…”

      “You’re right.  You’re absolutely right.  And you worried that I’d be viewed as a leverage point for you and that would put me in danger.”

      “Yes, a worry I still harbor, for I cannot bear the thought of any harm befalling you.”

      “I know.  It’s just…”

      “Gregory?”

      “I can’t go on like this anymore.”

Mycroft knew, logically, he would one day meet his death.  He did not expect to meet it, however, at this precise moment in time.  Or that it would be so catastrophically painful…

      “No… no, my beloved…”

      “I’m sorry, Mycroft, but I can’t.  I can’t go on with the lying, the hiding… I just can’t.  It’s not right and it’s not fair.  Here… we were supposed to meet up later at your house and I was going to give you this then… it seemed only right that I just go ahead and do it, so we could both get on with… the fallout.”

Greg reached around down to pick up something next to him, which he held a moment then handed to Mycroft who was expecting, most seriously, that it was a bomb, because that was precisely what Greg’s words had felt like when they exploded in his chest.

      “I… I do not understand.”

      “Look at it, Mycroft.  I suspect you can fathom it out.”

Mycroft held the garish thing in his trembling hands and had never in his life felt so adrift.  His lover’s shattering words and now this.  It made no sense!  They… they had been so happy together.  Was this some… he had no idea why Gregory had handed him a ludicrous plush reindeer!  Was it a cultural reference?  Some fatuous meme about breaking one’s lovers heart into a thousand pieces!

      “Don’t throw it!  What the fuck is wrong with you, you bastard!”

      “You have rended us asunder and choose to further assail me with your… toy!”

      “What?  Look at the thing, you stupid berk!  _Look_ at it.”

Greg dragged Mycroft’s reindeer-holding hands back to a point so close to Mycroft’s face that the British Government had to cross his eyes to see it properly.

      “I fail to…”

It was a deplorably cheap, garish toy with an insipid red nose and…

      “Gregory, why is the reindeer shackled?”

      “Oh my god… he’s not shackled!  Give it to me…”

Mycroft’s eyes uncrossed as the toy was yanked from his hands and they, instead, watched Greg pull the small metal band off of the reindeer’s leg.

      “One year ago tonight… what happened?”

      “I…”

Greg waggled the reindeer in front of Mycroft’s face again, startling the memory back to the front of Mycroft’s mind.  Not that it should have been that far back and covered with dust, given his previous conversation with John.

      “Oh dear heavens… the Reindeer Rampage.”

      “Exactly.  But, more importantly… it was the first time I asked to see you.  Socially, I mean.  You appeared in my office like the Dark Angel of Christmas to collect Sherlock from custody and the sight of him wearing the red reindeer nose I made him put on as part of his debt to society… you looked so happy and gorgeous, that I had to pull you aside and ask if you’d consider accompanying me for a drink after you put the baby to bed.  It was the bravest thing I’d ever done, and I’ve never regretted it.  Not for a moment.”

Greg turned to face Mycroft fully and held up the ‘shackle’ for Mycroft to see clearly.

      “But, I can’t live as your secret anymore, Mycroft.  And I can’t have you live as mine.  So, I’m asking you, if you’ll accept me possibly seeing a little or a lot danger someday, and let me live with being given a bent eye now and again by someone who wonders if a case or promotion I got was because of you and… would you do me the great honor, despite all of that, of marrying me?”

There, apparently, was no limit to how many times a person’s heart could stop in one evening, because Mycroft’s came to another crashing halt as he stared at the silvery metal band in Greg’s fingers and his brain scrambled like an egg from his lover’s words ricocheting about like stray bullets.

      “M… marry you?”

      “Yes.  I love you, Mycroft.  I lost the first part of my heart to you one year ago tonight and I’ve been losing pieces ever since.  You own it all now and it feels, some days, that I can’t live without you in my life because you’re what makes my life more than just existence.  You color everything, make music out of the noise… I understand if you think it won’t work, us being who we are, but…”

The speed with which Mycroft snatched the ring reminded Greg of nature programs he’d seen of a snake lunging at prey and the ring was on Mycroft’s finger in the blink of an eye.

      “Ok… but, I’d still like an answer so I know you’re not stealing my evening’s worth of visiting jewelers, and actually mean to make an honest man of me.”

Mycroft found, for a moment, that answering was impossible, since his heart was thoroughly lodged in his throat.  It was a far better fate for it than being shattered, though, so he didn’t immediately issue a chastisement and, instead, took a moment to rub the new piece of jewelry on his finger.  By the weight and sheen it was surely platinum and the diamond set deep into the band was spectacularly brilliant with fire, but uniquely triangular in shape so that it provided a… menacing… tone to the ring, much like the tooth of the serpent who snatched it from Greg’s hand in the first place.  It was the most perfect token of love his Gregory could ever have offered.

      “I will.  Yes, Gregory Lestrade, I _will_ marry you.”

Greg took Mycroft in a scorching kiss and felt his own heart restart, because it had stalled while waiting for the words that would seal his fate.

      “Thank you, love.  I’ll do my best, everything in my power, to never have you regret that decision.”

      “I know you will, my dear.  My love for you is never something I never doubt, and I know, to the very core of my soul, that it shall only grow deeper and more beautiful with the passing years.”

This kiss was slower, but the fire it contained was the sort that warmed you from the tips of your toes to the tip of your nose and everything in between.

      “But, my dear… why were you so off-footed, if this… this wonderful thing… was what you were contemplating?”

      “Because I wasn’t, in a sense.  I’d put in for tonight off, for the first time in a millennium, to be with you and I couldn’t tell anyone.  Couldn’t talk about my Christmas Eve plans, at least not all of them, when others were sharing stories.  I thought about going to Sherlock’s and John’s party and listening to Sherlock take stabs at me for being alone again at Christmas.  I’d visit you later tonight and enjoy the most magical Christmas Eve of my life and nobody could ever know about it.  I couldn’t share with _anyone_ the amazing time I had with the most incredible man in the world.  It seemed so wrong!  That’s the part I couldn’t fathom out earlier, what was pecking at me and making everything… strange.  We were in love and I knew I had no intention of being anywhere in this world but with you and… it was like a shameful secret I was carrying on my back and the weight was growing too heavy to bear.  I love you and I didn’t want to hide it anymore.  I’m proud of you, of us… I finally decided that it was time to put that secret to rest and do what it felt natural and right.  Especially, tonight of all nights.”

      “I… I am utterly stunned, Gregory.  I have dreamed of this, in truth, but had not the courage to simply embrace the challenges and ask for your hand.  I was so fearful of creating a situation where our adversities began to tear at the fabric of our devotion…”

      “Oh, we’ll have problems, but all couples do.  We’ve already had our share of disagreements and fights, but worked together to fix the problem.  I don’t suspect it’ll be much different in the future.  The important thing is we’ll be together, facing whatever comes our way.  I think of it as an adventure and who doesn’t want a bit of adventure in their lives?”

Greg’s cheeky smile lit up the night and Mycroft simply rolled his eyes, which made both of them giggle at the silliness of it all.

      “You are a scamp, Gregory.  But you are _my_ scamp, so I suppose I shall have to endure.”

      “Yeah, sorry about that.  Hey, I have an idea.  How about we make the enduring a bit more endurable by stopping at Sherlock’s party and stealing his thunder by making a big announcement?”

      “Oh… my dear, that is a positively stellar idea.  He shall be apoplectic!”

      “Then we can go back to your house and have our own celebration.”

      “Shall nudity be involved?”

      “Scads of it.”

      “Then I believe our plans for the evening are set.”

      “Happy Christmas, love.”

      “Happy Christmas, Gregory.  You have truly made it a glorious one.”

One final kiss preceded Greg hopping up and offering Mycroft his hand, which his fiancé gladly took and held onto as they walked from the bench towards the waiting car.

      “Hey!  It’s beginning to snow!”

So it was.  And didn’t his Gregory wear large, fluffy snowflakes marvelously in his beautiful, silver hair.

      “Mother Nature approves of our union.”

      “It’s good to have mum’s blessing.  She’s a nice old bird, now and again.”

      “I shall remind you of that very thing when you are cursing like a stranded sailor because of the heat during the torrid periods of summer.”

      “Just for that, I’m swearing even louder.  And filthier, too.”

      “Will you be naked while you do it?”

      “If it’s hot enough, yes.”

      “Then prepare for the hottest summer on record.”

      “Hey!  No deploying the super-secret weather-control satellites just because you want to see me starkers!”

      “I shall take your suggestion under advisement.”

      “So, it’ll go in the rubbish bin and your satellites are not only going to make it so hot I have to get naked, but take photos of me, while naked, too.”

      “Video, Gregory.  Please feel free join the modern age.”

      “My future husband, the comedian.”

      “My future husband, the nude model.”

      “That’s not the worst combination in the world.”

      “Far from it.  We could, say, be a detective and his blogger.”

      “AAH!  Don’t scare me like that!”

      “I do apologize.  The frivolity of the season got the better of me.”

      “Yeah, it can do that to a person.”

      “It can do other things, as well.”

The twinkle in Mycroft’s eye was something Greg adored and knew he was one of the very, very few people in Mycroft’s life who was privileged enough to see it.  The naughty smile that grew under that twinkle, however, was his and his alone to enjoy.

      “That it can.  And aren’t we lucky we’ll get to discover new ones each and every year.”

At the car, the couple shared another kiss, which gave the driver his own heart attack as he stepped out to open the door and Mycroft forgave him the bugged-out eyes and dropped jaw as part of the man’s yearly Christmas bonus.  There would be a great deal of that in the coming days, but… Gregory was correct.  It was time to lay their secret to rest and get on with the life they truly wanted.  A life where their love was openly acknowledged and where their adoration of their partner was freely expressed.

There could be no greater Christmas gift than that.

      “When we get home tonight, love, I’m going to stretch you out and fuck you until you scream.  And, in the morning, I’ll do it again.”

Well, perhaps there was one.


End file.
